


The Long Winter

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Swanfireaufridays' week 5: ASOIAF/Game of Thrones challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Baelfire

The wars for the iron throne had been decimated by the only thing willing to still the ambitions of the power hungry: winter.

It crept in before many nobles found the chance to break their encampments – or to fortify food stores for themselves and the smallfolk. A week after the frost settled, the blizzards came – raging the lands; killing the first rounds: all already weakened by war strife. From what Bae could gather, majority were the already suffering smallfolks – but an aged noble here or there; most happy to go if it meant not living through yet another winter – or come the imminent spring (probably years into the future), bowing to whatever fool remained to call himself 'king'. Or 'queen', Bae reminded himself with a bitter laugh.

It was deep into winter now. The only thing truly keeping him alive was youth and stubbornness. He remembered the stories his papa used to tell him, about the terrors of winters. He'd been fascinated as a boy; certain his papa was simply trying to scare him into behaving: and the gore, the desperation – it all fueled a wild child's imagination. He would twist the tales, adding to them, as he whispered them into the ear of his childhood playmate; the sweet-little princess. She'd always be sure to contort her face in disgust at his stories – but, sure enough, continued following him around the castle grounds; chirping for more.

He wondered if his papa was still alive. Or had his plotting and foes finally caught up with him? Or the winter! No matter how bitter their last parting, how much he'd sworn to never care about that slimy bastard again! – he was still his papa!

But Harrenhal, the noble seat his papa had schemed all his political life to achieve, was blocked from Bae's path; a wall of ice and snow keeping him stuck waiting out the winter in the stormlands.

Which brought him to this moment, kneeled down in a forgotten field; digging through the ice and snow and praying that whoever's armies passed this way during the summer hadn't seen fit to salt the earth or burn crops. And for once, he was lucky! Pulling up a rotten turnip from beneath the ice, Bae smirked as he attempted to remove the frozen dirt from the vegetable- but then he felt the cool metal against his throat; skillfully sliding into the thin gap over his scarf and beneath his growing beard.

"I expected more from you, Baelfire," taunted a smooth, feminine voice from overhead.

The only person to ever call him Baelfire – besides the bastard who named him that – was a willful, little brat. He raised his eyes and, sure enough, found hazel eyes peeking out of a large, fur hood; wisps of golden hair coming out of the hood and dancing in the harsh, winter winds.

"Princess?"

"Shut up, you!" The hilt of her sword smashed against the back of his skull. Doubling over; clutching his skull, Bae grimaced in pain. Emma rolled her eyes at his display, easing her sword back in the belt around her waist. "Sorry about that – but really! Announcing I'm a princess that loudly after everything that's happened? Do you want me to be kidnaped? Attacked by rapers? – Besides, I'm just Emma. You should know that more than anyone.."

"I wasn't thinking –"

"Clearly!"

"How are you even –"

"Alive? I could say the same thing about you, Baelfire!"

"Seems I'm too stubborn to die, I suppose."

"Same," Emma replied, offering her hand to help him to his feet. "Do you have shelter nearby? The evening's snow storm should be starting up soon – you don't want to be out here when the white walkers' rise."

"Last night I slept under an overturned cart –"

"That's just silly, Bae! How could that protect you from white walkers or the elements –"

"Didn't really have an assortment of options, my lady. Or haven't you noticed what we're dealing with here!"

She was positively fuming at this point. Had the situation not been dire; had the little brat not have lived through war and loss – he knew she'd be stamping her foot and calling him names by this point. But no – Emma was a warrior queen by her own right now. She knew when to pick her battles and was a skilled survivor; like him, they'd both grown up.

Gesturing back to the hole he'd formed in the ice, Emma explained, "Get me a turnip, too – and you can stay with me."

He was quick to reach in and pull out another turnip; filling the hole and taking Emma's hand – And she was just as quick to drop the hold after he'd been helped up from the ground; no longer the lovelorn maid who'd snuck away during his final feast at Winterfell.

She bypassed her parents, septa, and soon to be betrothed all to follow him into the Godswoods; to be pressed against one of her house's sacred trees as he clumsily, devoured her mouth. He recalled she tasted like lemoncakes; that she'd moaned into each kiss; innocent- seemingly unaware of her own desires. He had been every bit aware of his lust, having been waking with a hardened cock more mornings than not because of her; most of his puberty at least. His cock had gotten the best of him the night against the Godswood; twitching against her leg and belly excitedly. Blushing, she'd raced away from him; back into the safety of her ancestral castle. Bae wasn't sure what his body had been expecting – that she'd take him in hand and assist to ease all of the want she'd unintentionally created? Or that she'd allow him to take her maidenhead; rutting against her family's gods: the lady of the oldest and most noble house – and the heir of the Fingers, of a house greener than spring?

All he knew in the end was the pain in the morning, of leaving Winterfell to join his papa at Kings Landing – his years of fostering by the good Lord and Lady of Winterfell done. And Lady Emma not even able to raise her eyes to meet his as she managed a formal farewell and stiff curtsy. He was swine – complete and utter filth! But for the years that followed, his ears would always pick up at every mention of her; he'd celebrate her victories – and mourned with her loses; the good Lord and kind Lady taken too soon from this world..

To find her here; now – alone! Where were her armies? The hundreds of loyal men sworn to die for her? She seemed unhurt, rolling a boulder to the side to reveal a trap-door.

"The nobility of the stormlands used these when the winds would pick up; bringing storms in from the seas that would last for days. But this would have been around the time of Orys Baratheon – when many of the nobility were still rebuilding castles after the dragons came."

Bae looked down into a narrow staircase – of chiseled earth; a lit torch on the wall supplying the only light. Emma took the torch and started moving into the ground, looking back only to grin up at him,

"What? Scared of a little darkness? After everything you've apparently been through!"

Had she heard of his trials? Of his attempts at being a noble knight – living in a world were that image was rightfully left for the singers and their songs! He pulled the trap door shut, tightening the locks and strings Emma already had in place to keep anyone or thing out.

A couple yards into the earth, they came across a hallowed out room. A small fireplace – fire almost dying before Emma walked over; blowing the coals to awaken a roaring blaze. In front of the fire, a low table surrounded by chairs. Baskets lining the wall nearest the door – possibly filled with food or supplies but Bae knew not to pry. It was winter and people would kill each other for supplies – just to last a few days longer and hope for spring; Emma would slit his throat in one movement if she felt threatened. In the farthest end of the room, Bae notices a nest of ratted blankets – what Princess Emma must have been using for a bed.

"My men had taken Storm's End by the first frost – to use as an encampment for the winter," Emma explained, bringing forth a pot for their turnips. "I went out with ten knights – looking for supplies, when the first snow hit… all ten dead now. But I survived and managed to find this place before the storms started to get heavy – before the white walkers started covering every inch of the valley at night."

"It's not just the evening storms anymore. Now, whenever there's a thick snow fall –"

"- They are out. I know that, silly! Have you managed to figure out how to kill them – between sleeping out in the middle of nowhere, waving a giant flag and chanting, 'come – kill me!'?"

"Dragonglass," Bae stated proudly, removing an obsidian dagger from his belt. "And catching them on fire seems to have a positive effect – they burn but not quite as gratifying as jamming one of these into their chest."

Emma laughed, before draping her own great sword on the table.

"Is- it that your father's –"

"Bitter wind. My father's sword. Passed down through the ages – apparently a very randy wildling ancestor of mine started the tradition. Valyrian steel – every family in the seven kingdoms present during the Long Night has one –"

"Guess that leaves my family out of the running –"

"Oh, you keep tittering along with your dragon daggers! Leave the hard work for me! – I'm surprised through, that your father hasn't managed to get his grimy hands on a great sword yet."

"Perhaps he has – our ways have parted long before the frost settled."

"It's strange to think our ways parted years ago – I can still remember our games."

"Games that you'd always shift the rules; adding on as we went so you'd always be winning!"

She laughed fondly, "I remember always baiting you down to the crypts – to view likenesses of my forbearers. It always made you quake with fear; being below ground!"

"It was a bunch of dead people buried beneath your castle. I'll never understand why you Northerners find comfort –"

"And I'll never understand why you Southerners fear death so much – and the darkness; and the ground. Are you and I not surrounded by death this very moment?"

"I suppose we are, but –"

"And are we not underground, right now? Locked away in the darkness? But it's not terrifying. The true terrors are above us."

She crept closer, spreading her fingers along his arms; removing his hood so she could whisper in his ear, "No - it's warm here; cozy even. Wouldn't you agree?" Her fingers moved to thread themselves in his hair; tongue darting out to lick his ear playfully; prompting him for an answer.

"It's certainly warmer in here," was his stuttered reply.

"What you don't understand about the crypts, of seeing the burial sites of my ancestors- it always reminded me that I was alive; the next part of their cycle. And isn't that a happy thought?"

He felt her fingers move, starting to unclasp the layers of his gear – letting each piece fall to the ground without a second thought. When he was bare chested in front of her, her fingers dipped down to ghost over imperfection in the skin; scars from battles long fought.

"I don't remember these from when you trained with my father," she muttered, lowering herself to trail kisses along each gash.

"Like your father would ever have hit me hard enough to break skin – man was far too gentle to his charges." He'd been what Bae imagined a true father was; or at least dreamed of as an awkward youth. Less schemes and feuds – more open and kind.

Suddenly, he felt the fastenings of his breeches start to lower. Bae grabbed his belt to hold them up – looking down at Emma in alarm.

"What are you playing at?"

"This – Baelfire – is often times called a 'seduction'. I'm sure the common wrenches you're used to fucking are less subtle; open their legs wide enough and you get the idea – but I prefer to paint a scene; a mood if you will."

"I'm well aware of what a seduction is! What I'm confused about is you –"

"Me?" Emma grinned up at him, rising to lay a kiss on his lips. "I'm alive – you're alive…"

"And?"

"And an erect cock isn't going to have me trembling in fright anymore. I'm actually hoping for -"

Her clever hand found its way into the front of his breeches; grasping him – stroking his already twitching cock. She grinned up at him; dazzling eyes full of warmth as she kissed and sucked on his lower lip.

"I used to dream of you. Awoke damp – never understanding why. I ached for years not realizing the cure –" Her speed increased, working his cock swiftly. Bae threw back his head in pleasure, moaning to the earthen ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to process the nips and licks lowering from his mouth, his neck, chest, ribs – not until she removed her hand and Bae felt something wet engulfing his cock did her progression make sense. Looking down, he found his lady's mouth moving along his cock; tongue twisting slyly.

He started playing with her hair; trying to keep in rhythm with his entrance of her; over and over again. His hips were bucking into her mouth –pleading for the sympathy of a release. But Emma only smiled up at him, mouth full of his cock – refusing to move at any pace she hadn't set.

Her hair was dirty, curls likely unbrushed for days – a year maybe of her sweeping a hand through them but nothing more. She'd always been proud of her golden hair as a child; allowing her mother to spend a tedious amount of time brushing her morning and night everyday. Now, though -

"You look like a wildling!"

She stopped pleasuring him, instead rising back to her feet. "I do have wildling blood in my veins," she joked as she trailed kisses along his neck; biting his collar bone as she pushed him into the makeshift bed.

"Take your boots off, Baelfire!"

He did! Throwing the offending articles against the farthest wall; scrambled out of the pants still attached at his ankles- and looked back up just in time to savor the moment Emma stepped out of her pants; revealing a soft patch of curls between her muscular legs – legs that had ridden down armies, run through forests after foes. Her boots were already gone; coat and hood as well. Now, she stood in front of him in only a long, tan undershirt; the outline of her breasts clear against the fabric and firelight.

Noticing him gawking at her, Emma raised an eyebrow in challenge before moving to peel the undershirt off; slowly. Painfully slow! He could see her ribs – she was far too underfeed! Later, he'd be sure she got a larger portion of turnips. Emma had earned her fair share of scars over the years as well; one running over her belly and stopping right before her left breast. Her breasts were just as pale and smooth as the rest of her. Nipples hardened and pink – a flush of orange darting off them, her hair, and eyes from the fire light.

Triumphantly, the warrior Queen – the Queen apparent- crossed to him; seated herself down on his lap and pulled him into a searing kiss. He felt her breasts pressing into his; her tongue flick his own – everything making his thighs quake; leaving him barely capable of thinking at all. Clever girl moved to grasp him once again, guiding him into her folds. Before Bae realized, she moved to sink onto his cock – rupturing her maidenhead in one swift, downward motion.

After countless suitors, ranging from every corner of the seven kingdoms and far off across the narrow sea; the deaths of nine betrothed and two old fools who both claimed to have wed her via proxy shortly before their own demise – Emma had chosen her own fate. Destroying what had been her most tempting bargain to wave over fools' heads on her quest for the throne. In the end, after a moment's hesitation to adjust to his size, Emma rode him; laughing in mirth to finally be free.

"I'm alive!" was her mantra. Bae heard it through their kisses, her nips. As her nails racked across his chest.

"I'm alive!" And she was! Burning with life! The flames dancing across her skin; her golden hair reflecting flecks of oranges and reds. Each time he entered her, he found her tight and hot. She was an erratic inferno; spreading life back into him thrust after thrust. Some fertility goddess from across the sea; here to save their frozen homeland.

Feeling his stomach clinch, Bae feared he was reaching his end. Seizing her by her middle, he moved her under him; having to lightly hold her down at first – Emma prepared to flip him right back over. She only stopped her fight when Bae's finger found her little nub; rubbing her rapidly. He tried different patterns; shifting from circular and fast to ticklish, barely there touches that sent her into a frenzy. His mouth latched on to a breast; suckling greedily as she thrashed about under him; crying in pleasure. Only when she was squirming, about to burst, did Bae reposition himself between her legs. Instinctually, Emma lifted her ass off the ground and wrapped her long legs around his waist. Bae surged back into her. Finding her even wetter than the first time; and still on fire.

Placing both hands on either side of her face, Bae smirked down at her as he urged into her warmth; bucking in and out of her with one goal in mind: to have her peak around his cock. He simply had to know what it would feel like.

She was still panting, chanting into his ear, "I'm alive!" – all the while clutching him; hands digging into his shoulders; feet driving into his ass, urging on his hurried pace.

When he felt her muscles constricting around his cock, her head thrown back as she squealed in delight – his name! She'd actually called out his name! , Bae answered her mantra simply with, "We're alive!" She was still coming down, not yet registering his words or what was going on; nuzzling against his neck; almost purring, as he continued to move inside her; chasing his own release. When his seed shot into her, her name on his lips, Emma cradled his head as he regained his senses; running her fingers through his hair; calming.

After his breathing slowed, Emma broke the silence with a laugh. "I think, maybe, we should team up – just for the long winter!"

Lazily kissing along her jaw, Bae found himself smiling down at the beauty. "Sure – just for the winter."


	2. Queen of the North

It was deep into winter now. The winds howling constantly. White walker attacks becoming a daily occurrence; if not several times a day. Coming across the creatures that had haunted her imagination as a child were now more frequent than another human soul.

Her partnership with Baelfire had proven to be a gift from the gods – the first time they'd chosen to be merciful in years. Not only did he double the amount of food she could transport, he had a system for rationing their provisions: something she never learned herself. The obvious shift in their relatively shared educations. She could balance household accounts so-so, embroidered so finely that her septa would always gush over the neat rows, spoke and wrote High Valyrian with ease – but such lowly pursuits as food storage were for stewards or lowly lords; not the future wife of a high lord or prince!

Part of her had always known that she loved Baelfire. He was always her chosen knight when the castle children played. He always protected her when their peers became too rowdy; choosing to tell her stories instead. By the age of nine, she had their wedding all planned out – fantaszed about one day ruling Winterfell as his lady. It was only one afternoon, while braiding her doll's long, yellow hair that Emma voiced these hopes – only to be quickly corrected by her septa.

Little Emma remarked that she wanted a dark haired doll, that it made more sense given her momma and Bae's dark features. Her septa caught on to this quickly, wondering why Baelfire's features would be of import.

Naturally, since she was to be his lady- and they'd rule Winterfell together, their children would have dark hair!

The color drained for the septa's face – for a moment, Emma expected a beating; as she had seen other castle children receive in the past. But the septa seemed to have controlled her anger where the sweet lady was concerned, quickly correcting these errors. Luckily, before either reached dangerous ages!

No – she would not be his wife; he was from a lower ranking family; only a second generation lord with only a small portion of lands to his name. He was to be a lord – true enough. The title earned by his father's schemes – but he was nothing to her line of nobility!

No – she would not inherit Winterfell. She may be the only child, but only a girl! There was surely a cousin somewhere waiting for the right – not her, her husband, or any children she may ever have could inherit her ancestrial home.

Suddenly, Emma became very cross. Her septa's promises of lemon cakes did nothing to pacify her ill humor.

Nor the declaration that Emma may yet end up with twelve babies someday; all with perfect golden hair!

Emma ended up exiting the room, leaving the doll on a chair never to be played with again; declaring that she hated golden hair!

The septa had been wrong about the line of inheritance. Sure, the old woman could never have foreseen the deaths of every male who outranked her; distant cousins dropping in quick sucession during the race for the throne.

One night, a raven brought the message that she was the lady of Winterfell; the ruler who answered to no man. A week later: she was the Queen of the North; a warrior queen ready to destroy King's Landing for what they did to her parents!

Septa was wrong about Bae as well – he was now fulfilling all duties of a husband for her. No vows exchanged or required. Fighting by her side as they faced walkers. Helping her survive the long winter. And, of course, sharing her bed.

Many mornings had passed with Emma awaking with Bae's arms curled about her; both naked underneath the dirty sea of blankets. His warmth radiating against her; breath tickling the back of her neck – and cock erect and pressing into her excitedly.

She would usually wake before him, rolling over to study his features whilst asleep. Thick eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. His nose would twitch as she skimmed her fingers along his jawline; peppering light kisses along the trail. She liked this – easing him awake. Even as he dreamed, tempting promises would bring him back to her.

It wasn't until his lashes began fluttering that she'd pay any attention to his roused member; moving her hands back beneath the blankets to grip his cock. He would be moaning by this point; although still seemingly asleep. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of his dark eyes opening slightly to peak at her that Emma would lean in to capture his mouth; nipping playfully as her hand continued working his cock.

"Good morning, Baelfire!"

They would then proceed to fuck the morning away. And, if they had a successful food hunt the day before, could often times spend the entire day making love in their hollowed-out hall. Pausing only to eat, drink, or sleep when the time called for it.

There should have been shame; a guilt attached to such licentious behavior.

But the world was different now – no longer the kingdom both of them had been molded to thrive within. No more knights, ladies, and courtly addresses. But sometimes Emma remembered the songs. Remembered the devote little girl who kneeled between her mother and septa in prayers daily; pledging her chastity to the Maiden until such time when marriage would claim her for the Mother.

It all felt so… silly now! As she moved against Bae; screaming her release. Or later, when they were attacked by three men; outside on an abandoned roadway.

In a moment of weakness, she'd been excited to see fresh faces; dying to hear their entire life stories. Maybe even hear some news about the world at large; had everything stopped as it seemed? No more armies vying for the throne?

All until they drew their swords; Bae quickly blocking her from harm. He'd managed to take one down with his knives and short sword but the remaining men fought with a desperation. They'd already commented on not seeing a proper woman in a year – their missing teeth and hungry eyes causing sick to rise in the back of her throat.

When one's blade managed to slice across Bae's cheek, the other kicking Bae to the ground; Emma finally shook off the last of a silly child within her. Her great sword in hand, she sliced across the belly of one man; he fell backward, intestines seeping from the long gash. She ignored the would-be rapist's cries, burying her sword into the final man's neck; watching as he sunk to the ground, choking on his own blood.

The scent of metallic blood weighed upon the air; but her only concern was the deep gash across Bae's face. Helping him to his feet, she studied the wound; testing along the cut with her fingers, causing him to grimace like a spoiled child. She knew it was not a death wound but worried of it catching infection; and there was a definite possibility of a new scar. Infection was the real danger. They were living in unsanitary conditions. The thought of Baelfire's healthy, young body breaking down through illness – it was too painful to comprehend.

"I'll need to close this – as soon as possible," she explained; holding the cleanest rag she had against his face.

"It's nothing, Emma. Besides – we both know how much you adore my scars…"

She rewarded his cheecky grin with a smack on the back of his head; sheathing her sword and moving once again down the forgotten roadway. When Bae did not join her, she turned back around; finding him staring down at the two corpses she'd made. Whistling, he turned back to her. She was worried for a moment that she'd scared him; that he would be displeased somehow by this side of her. A cool murder where he wanted a sweet princess still to be found. She was just about to chastise herself for caring what Lord Baelfire would desire – until his long legs had him bounding to her side; admiration glistening in his dark eyes.

"I've never seen you fight before," he remarked, grinning down at her as they walked.

Her stomach flopped and flipped at his clear respect; a fire returning in her loins that would simply have to wait. Feeling her cheeks flush in pleasure, she brought her hood down lower; trying to hide the blush from her compainian. His continued smirk edvidence that he had seen all.

They found an abandoned inn not far from the roadway. They broke up, each taking different sections; doing a quick inventory for supplies, humans alive, humans dead, and white walkers. Emma found no one alive or dead – no bodies to take outside and burn today! No walkers in any of the upstairs bedding areas. She did locate a needle and thread; she'd have Bae stitched up before they left! Coming down the inn stairs, she found Bae already returned to the main room; dumping a barrel of ale or wine by the door.

"The cellars are very well stocked! Dried fruits and meats but–"

"No people. Or bodies to explain their absence. Same upstairs, Bae."

"I did find a white walker in the cellar; a quick kill. Maybe whoever lived here trapped it down there and fled?"

She smiled at him. If that's what he chose to believe; that they all escaped and left their food provisions behind – let him think it was possible.

In celebration for locating such a well-stocked inn, Bae had bent her over the long table by the fire; ferally entering her from behind. Her pants had been pulled down just enough for him to take her; her round ass feeling the bitter coldness of the room. His large hands holding her around the waist; pulling her backward onto his cock with each thrust.

It was a new position for her – and images of her house's sigil imediantly entered her mind: was this not the way wolves rutted?

Her palms gripped the rough top of the table. Bae's testicles slapping against her ass in an almost comical sound. His throaty gruntings doing nothing to help the situation. After all, a wolf was being fucked by a mockingbird. How was that not a laugh?

To not injure his manly pride, she attempted to muffle her laughter at first; turning her mouth to the side, into her shoulder. But Bae misread this; concerned that she was denying herself the moans and squeals out of feminaine modesty!

"Come now, sweetling," he murmured into her ear; one hand moving from around her hip to caress her folds; locating her little nub and pinching.

"Don't hold back," he begged.

So – she didn't. She laughed heartily. At the ridiculouness of love making; the awkwardness of his testicles banging against her ass. In mirth of having him close to her; from knowing that she might have lost him hours ago – but he was still here!

Her laughter started to be infused with moans – Bae working her nub sore. She started to buck backward; impaling herself on his cock; urging him to fuck her deeper.

He angled her backside; baring down on her with downward thrusts; finding a new place inside that desperately needed to be explored.

She tried to find her center; like she was taught during swordfighting. But her hands started to feel weak under her; her knees and legs shaking from the intensity of properly being fucked into the nobby table.

When everything snapped within her, Emma almost colasped into the table; and would have, had Bae not been holding her firmly in place as he rode on; approaching his own release. The surge of white behind her eyes left her dizzy; attempting to catch her breath – still wondering where her center was; if she could possibly find it still.

When Bae shrieked behind her, pulling her back into him one final time and holding her tight; Emma wasn't shocked to feel the stickiness enter her. Another laugh about love making: men's seed was sticky; had a metallic smell akin to blood, and tasted like salt in her mouth.

Bae continued to rock his hips against her; jolting forward twice more to empty more of his seed into her cunt.

When both finished and found their strength again; pants were once again raised against the cold. Emma talked him into a chair by the window; offering up enough light for her task. Presenting the sewing supplies, she cooed to him as she threaded the needle.

"You'll barely feel it," she promised. "Tough guy like you!"

Bae had always been reluctant about healers or medical remedies; even as a child. He sighed when she dripped a portion of fine ale on a clean cloth; complaining it was an utter waste as she applied the compress to his cheek. The brave former knight jumped when the alchohol stung; Emma having to climb into his lap to keep him down.

When she was satisfied that the cut was as disinfected as she could manage, Emma took the threaded needle in hand and pushed it through her lover's flesh; pulling it back out as he winced. Years of needlework finally paid off as her neat little rows gathered Bae's torn skin; holding him together. He was a baby the entire time, trying to turn his head away to block everything out; causing her to have to cradle his head to keep him from moving. When she was finished; she applied more alcohol over the stitches, kissing the area fondly when he cried out again.

"I guess I'll live to fight another day, now," Bae joked, moving to hug her against him; incase she was preparing to leave his lap anytime soon.

She moved to nuzzle against his neck. Closing her eyes, for a moment the sunlight had her thinking of spring; wondering what it would be like to just lay in your love's arms and not have future terrors infiltrating your thoughts.

"Maybe… maybe we could stay here," voiced Bae. She kept her eyes closed in the sunlight, but knew he was glancing down at her; trying to decipher her opinion. "Just for awhile," he muttered, still waiting for a response.

"It would be far more dangerous than the storm shelter," Emma rationalized; eyes still closed. "Who's to stop anyone finding this place from the road and taking it from us?"

"You and I for one. We're young and strong – and clearly you're the greatest swordmaster in the lands; as I've learned today. We could block the doors and windows; stabilize it for attacks. But then – just live for awhile!"

"Bae –"

"It would make more sense than trying to carry back all these supplies! The cellar is packed; we could survive for years on this stuff!"

He had her there; the food was starting to become an issue back at the storm shelter; surrounding areas barely had them capable of catching a rabbit most days.

"Alright," she agreed. "We stay here… for awhile –"

Bae had lifted her into the air; twirling her about the great room as he laughed. Eyeing the staircase, he smirked at her before starting to sing; in a thick voice that kept falling on flat notes,

"My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down,  
I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.  
For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord.  
I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword."

Playfully kicking her feet, as if she wanted to escape, Emma laughed as Bae carried her up the wooden staircase; searching for the first bedchamber. For a wide featherbed.

"And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree.  
She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.  
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass,  
But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.

Yes you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass..."


	3. The Lowly Mockingbird

It was spring. White and pink blossoms hang in the trees as Bae walks down the forest path. He doesn't know where he's heading; a slow pace – taking in everything and sighing in the breeze. Feeling utterly at peace again. A lazy youth with not a thought in his head; just sweet spring dreams.

He hears perils of laughter from behind a tree, peeking around the bark to find Emma peering back at him. Clutching the bark, she attempts to hide again; running through the forest, dodging behind trees as Bae gave chase. She was teasing him, ducking out of his vision only to remerge; running through the grove of trees; looking back to make sure he was following.

She was dressed in a light linen gown; fine and airy. Her hair falling down her back in thick curls. Emma's dress – the familiar landscape; Bae knew this was Winterfell. That he would be home again by nightfall – Emma by his side.

After several failed attempts, Bae finally caught her around the middle; swinging her through the air as both laughed heartily. When he set her on her feet again, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips; Emma backed away. Tears leaked from her eyes. Emma clutched her stomach; bent over in pain. Bae tried to calm her; to right whatever was wrong – but then noticed the red blood staining her dress; running along her stomach and down to her feet.

She cried in utter misery, backing away from him as she wept; shaking her head when he tried to hold her again.

Suddenly, night fell. Emma lost in darkness. Bae unable to save her.

He kept walking, searching the forest for her; trying to find her – to bring her safely back to Winterfell. But he could not locate his love.

He smelled blood, metallic and heavy, covering the wooden landscape. Found a pack of wolves pacing in a clearing; wailing to the moon. Their howls unheard; falling on deaf ears. Only heard by the lowly mockingbird.

His papa leaped out from behind a tree; berating him for chasing a dream. For trying to be a noble knight in a world where such idiocy was meant only for songs. His papa begged him to destroy his enemies; to abandon foolish hopes and focus on their family's name; on building a future house of power.

Bae tried to explain that he was searching for the Lord's daughter; that she had to be saved. But his papa kept yelling; repeating the hurtful words from their final parting. That he'd prayed for a son; the healer assured him of a son: yet all he was left to work with was an idiot dreamer! He ended up screaming that he wished Bae had never been born; that his rise to power would be easier without him. Bae found himself weeping in shame; begging for his papa's love.

But he was only kicked away, his papa exclaiming, "I wish I'd never squirted you into that Braavosi slut!"

His papa dispersed into a thousand crows; biting and attacking him as Bae shrieked in pain – awaking to sweet kisses and caresses. A warm, feathered bed. And the love of his life seated on his lap.

"Good morning, Baelfire," the nude beauty chirped down at him; brushing her lips against his. He felt a hand slide from his chest; reaching to grasp his cock. Emma was an impatient being every morning.

He tried to process the dream; interpret what the gods (old or new) were trying to tell him – but Emma soon had him erect; leaking fluid and stammering as she mounted him; throwing her head back as he filled her once again.

Thoughts were impossible when his cock was inside Emma's tight cunt; her riding him into the softest bed he'd slept in since King's Landing. Emma arched her back, coming down with such force; trying to take him as deep as possible. Moaning and purring with each thrust.

Still waking, Bae watched; allowing Emma to do as she will. Her round breasts bouncing as she moved atop him. Nipples hardened by the morning cold.

"Did you sleep well," she asked like a proper lady; like they were seated back in Winterfell's great hall, having a light breakfast to start the day. Like she wasn't fucking away the morning's frost, impaling herself on his cock.

"Very well, my lady." His hands moved to hold her hips; bringing her down as he started to thrust upward. It was partly a lie; with the dream part at least. But the soft bed; Emma laying in his arms. Her breath against his naked skin – did all of the positives not amount to a very good night's sleep?

"I dreamed of you," she admitted with a blush; lowering her head to nip at his bottom lip. Her red flush traveling from her cheeks to the skin between her breast; having her wet and excited so early in the morning – it must have been a nice dream! Of naughty delights!

"What happened," he prompted; raising a hand to caress the underside of Emma's breast.

She shook her head, grinning down at him as she reddened even more.

"Not telling!"

Her flipped her over to lay under him; making sure her head landed on the pillows. His palm found her inner thigh; moving along in a circular pattern. Fingers almost dipping near her cunt – but never close enough. She'd have to give him a piece first.

"Where were we, Emma?"

"Winterfell," she murmured. "The practice yard."

His hand reached in-between her legs; fingers skirting her folds.

"And," he prompted.

"And – you were training."

"As I often did – is that really what has you so wet this morning?" He inserted his index finger, wriggling it about to feel her; arching an eyebrow when her juices started leaking out around his finger. His point proven.

"You were… training shirtless."

"In the winter?"

"No – no, it was high summer!"

He had to smirk down at her. Shirtless training had started towards the end of his stay at Winterfell. When summer was at its peak heat. This would also have been the time Emma had started to return to the practice fields again; slowly. First delivering messages between her parents; or an inquiry from the steward to her father. But she started lingering longer and longer; watching the fights. He remembered how his grip on the hilt would slag when he felt her eyes on him from the battlements.

"No one was around," she admitted. "I'm not sure why –"

"Sure you do," Bae encouraged, adding another finger inside of her.

She gasped, throwing her head back as he pumped his fingers in her cunt. Only to groan when he slowed his pace; when he removed his fingers and smiled down at her.

"Continue: you were sharing a little story, highness."

"We were practicing; sword fighting in the ring. And you suddenly got through my blocking; swiping a blow with your sword that undid my tunic! I was vexed with you; lowered my sword to reprimand, but you only used this to your advantage: cutting off my pants, my underclothes – grinning like a fucking imbecile as I stood there naked as my nameday!"

He was flattered to have been so skilled in her dream world. In actuality, Emma was the only human alive he'd have guessed capable of such skill; of slicing so precise as to leave no cut flesh. For a moment, his thoughts returned to his dream. To the bleeding Emma lost in the forest – but he shook his head. Choosing to be lost in love and pleasure than worrying about silly dreams; like a foolish child.

Besides, focusing on Emma's dreams was a happier fate!

"What did I do? Once I had you naked as your nameday; completely alone?"

"You- you threw me to the ground…and-"

"And what, Emma?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to describe the act. Getting nothing but flustered, Emma bellowed at him; full of indignation,

"And then you fucked me!"

Smirking, he let out a whistle. What a naughty little Queen – to be using such filthy language. To be dreaming such filthy acts! – Bae needed more!

"How," he asked, climbing up her body so his nose hovered just above her own; his still excited cock pressing into her stomach, leaving a trail of milky fluid in his wake.

"How? - What do you mean 'how'?"

"Just trying to get a clear picture in my head, Emma. How were we positioned? Did I have to force your legs open – or were you just as enthused? Did I make you come – or was it just a quick fuck? Us both worried that your Lord father would be finding us-"

"You were on top of me," Emma made the point of keeping eye contact now; trying to be bold and unabashed. Her blush and slight stammering gave her away. "My legs opened eagerly; wrapped around you – holding you close to me. It was a quick fuck – we had to mute each other's moans in case someone approached. You came rather quickly; I did not – but it was enjoyable enough; you shouldn't feel ashamed of your stamina!"

"I have an abundance of stamina! I'm nothing but stamina and high endurance! The whore August bought to take my virginity congratulated me afterward –"

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with being paid handsomely by August –"

"She said she should be the one paying me!"

"But still took the money; just the same."

"I'm being serious here, Emma. You should know that I – your lover – am very skilled and highly sought after!"

"Really now?" Her hand moved to grasp his cock; once again aligning him to her entrance. "Prove it," she provoked with a grin.

At his lady's command, Bae pushed into her; pulling back only half way in to cause Emma to groan like a child; wrapping her legs around him and forcing his cock back inside. She was needy, firm in her wants; trying to set a relentless pace beneath him. Bucking and pleading for him to just fuck her!

But – Bae had a point to make; holding fast to a slow pace. Made sure he brushed against her clit each time he moved within; causing a delightful friction in his lady love.

It wasn't until her muscles started tightening around his cock; milking him with each thrust, that Bae started to pick up the pace.

Emma reached around his back to hold onto his ass; caressing and digging her nails into his skin in equal portions.

As she rode her peak, Bae following, Emma held him inside of her; nails scratching his ass as he emptied within her. Even afterwards, both regaining their senses, Emma held him firmly inside of her; unwilling to part.

As Emma laid under him, heaving from her early exertion, Bae moved to kiss the underside of a breast; surprising her by leisurely moving to take her in his mouth. He suckled, nip at her bud lightly with his front teeth. Anything to continue her spasms of pleasure; her head bucking against the wooden headboard as she moaned.

He started to explore the rest of her; her ribs (still visible, even after the Inn's food supply), the dip of her belly button – and finally; her abdomen. Her lack of nutrition over two years of winter made the swelling in her low tummy all the more noticeable. He became preoccupied pressing little kisses on the swollen skin, giving it far too much attention as Emma shot forward; knocking him away from her as she grabbed a blanket. Shielding herself from him.

He'd been so careful over the years, spilling his seed on breasts, stomachs and the ground; never wanting to leave a woman with a bastard in her belly. And now – surrounded by death and winter, he might have ruined the life of the only person he loved without restraint or limits. Ever since he started to understand what his papa did at court – there were definite limits to that love.

The haunted look in her eyes had him worried that she was remembering the stories he'd told her as a lad; of winters that lasted generations and woman choosing to smother their babies than watch them starve. Babes born that would live and die deep in snow; never knowing the kindness of spring. He had only been trying to get her attention; good or bad. But now he realized how much these tales weighed on her; causing her to deny entirely the life they'd created – growing inside of her. She would even argue when he placed extra helpings of food on her plate; claiming it was a waste of their stock – but every crumb was eaten just the same. Nature at least forcing her to not starve the babe in her womb.

"Will you go start the fire for breakfast," she asked; blanket curled around her; protecting her as she sat hunched on the bed.

"Emma –" he needed to explain; to promise that he'd never let anything hurt her or the child. He needed one of them to finally voice the fact that a child was on the way – but Emma refused to look up at him; absentmindedly biting at her fingernails instead.

"Of course I will, Emma – I'll start a feast for us!"

When the door closed behind him, Bae heard her – yet again – getting sick; vomiting into the chamber pot on the far-side of the room.


	4. The Shewolf and her pup

Emma awoke with a start. Wrapped in her lover's arms and legs – and found herself hating his attentions. He immobilized her at every turn!

She felt the bile rising in her throat rapidly. Carefully, she dislodged herself from Bae – racing out of the bedchamber that had become theirs and into the room next door. Vomiting last night's meal into the chamber pot underneath the window.

She dry heaved afterwards; wiping any remaining evidence from her mouth and chin. The acidic taste disgusting; and no nearby water or fine wine to disguise it.

Emma spit into the chamber pot in vain, thinking the saliva would take a bit of the taste from her mouth.

Rising to her feet, Emma headed back to her and Bae's bedchamber to dress.

He was still asleep; head down on the pillow she had been using. Luckily, enough of her scent seemed to have been left to not disturb him. Naked, his round ass was left uncovered in the bed. Emma moved to gently pull a blanket across him. Without the shared body heat, winter's chill would soon rouse him awake.

Emma picked up her discarded breeches from the floor. Patched and torn repeatedly in winter's struggle – and now quite tight around her middle. Almost painful when she moved about. A constant reminder of the burden growing inside her.

As naïve and young as so many men had told her she was; denounced that she could command armies; laughing when she took the seat of honor in their halls – Emma was not so stupid as to doubt the infliction that had her vomiting up morning, noon, and night.

The childish dreams that had her wanting a dark haired doll; of swaddling sweet little babies with Bae's dark eyes – they were as good as dead in Emma's heart.

She would never understand how she had been so careless. With no supply of moon tea about, not once had she asked Bae to release his seed outside of her. And now, they had taken root.

And winter was not a time for babies.

How could a little life even hope to survive? In such a harsh existence!

When her moon blood did not come, Emma told herself not to worry. Her lifestyle, little food, fighting walkers and humans left and right – all these variables would certainly cause the babe to perish soon enough. The situation would resolve itself – without either Emma or Bae bonding with the idea of this little life. Hoping for a family again after so much pain.

Besides, her family was cursed with death. She'd realized that quick enough.

But the little bastard was a strong one. Growing every day; sharing her food and her struggle; every ounce.

As the days passed, it was becoming clearer and clearer to her that the babe was a fighter as well. Just like Bae and herself. A scraper who wouldn't give up!

As Bae pushed more food and water rations down her; lessening his own daily intake, Emma began to wonder if maybe they could make this work. Build a life after so much tragedy.

Raising a little boy or girl at the abandoned Inn. Teaching them tricks their parents learned to survive. Archery to hunt game. Swords and daggers to annihilate the enemy.

Emma found herself shaking her head as she exited the room; grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows before leaving out the back door. Such thoughts were for fools; and she wasn't one of those. Not anymore. Fools and honorable men were branded traitors. Traitors lost their heads.

Sweet mothers with gentle caresses; who'd climb into beds during storms to assure their children all was well; they were safe. Mothers with songs of love and springtime were cut down in battle. Left bloody in a heap by the river.

Emma was the lone wolf; living only to survive and make her enemies bleed.

She was no sweet mother – nor an honorable fool.

Besides, these lands had never looked kindly on bastards. She and Bae could raise the child, glimpse a couple years of true happiness – but the world would come back someday. Spring would come. The final death toll taken. The survivors starting more battles for a throne. Her throne, she had decided. She recalled the Northern Lords toasting to the Queen of the North – and the rallying intensifying when she declared herself the Queen of it all.

Huffing as she trotted through the forest, Emma leaned against a nearby tree to catch her breath; unconsciously rubbing her stomach.

She was the Queen. With her power, troops and high lords under her command, she'd make the halls of her enemies burn to the ground. Kill every last one of them.

Top of her list the very man she was now carrying the grandchild of – who had tricked both her parents into thinking him a noble and true friend.

She couldn't march into King's Landing with a bastard in her wait; the young mockingbird by her side.

To accept this little family with Bae would be a curse on her house; on the family she was too young and stupid to protect when they needed her. And she would never leave her parents' memories to the dust. Queen Emma would not rest until their bodies located and given a proper burial under Winterfell. Until the Lord of the Fingers and Harrenhal's blood dripped down her great sword.

There – her present for her lover and bastard. Bae would inherit the Fingers and his papa's other holdings. She'd allow him that. And Bae, in all his gentle and lovingness, would certainly take care of the child. An heir if it a boy. A proper marriage later on for a girl.

A low lord could certainly have his bastard running his halls; supplying the necessary love and attention.

The Queen could not.

She'd explain the plan to him someday; when she was ready to speak of the child. When her heart didn't ache slightly in weakness. Imagining Bae and their child playing throughout a far away castle – the woman who Bae would be called to marry after winter watching disdainfully; but Bae would never let her get rid of the babe. Not when it was theirs.

She could not accept much; certainly not ready to plan out a birth. To question what she would need to have ready since this one would be born; strong and stubborn.

But she felt called to address something about practicality this morning. Her mind focusing on the food supply. Bae had assured her it could last them years if handled well – but a third mouth would be a drain on this plan. She would start hunting again. Emma knew she needed to contribute – to find some way to make everything right again -

The wind started to blow; ground snow gusting over her trail. Emma turned around in immediate caution. The storms were starting early today. The weakened sunlight replaced by an ominous gray. Like the skin of a dead man left out for the frost.

Emma replaced an arrow into the quiver; throwing the bow over her shoulder as she reached to pull out the blade on her hip.

Snow flakes started falling. Within seconds, the snows were so heavy Emma could barely see a foot in front of her – and then she heard the horns; a battle cry of the dead. Mocking the living as they approached.

She scurried behind a tree; decided sizing up her enemies safer than charging in at once.

A fluttering started in her stomach. The babe moving about for the first time.

Emma almost dropped her sword in shock; maintaining her hold only because strict training caused the sword to feel an extension of her hand. Her child was moving about; pressing into her. She supposed the logical message was hunger – she had not paused to break her fast prior; fearing waiting too long and having Bae invite himself along. She was certainly capable of surviving without him; had done so deep into winter!

But Emma wondered if her survivor was warning her; the child's instincts telling its mother of danger.

Or it could just be my elevated heart rate, Emma chided herself.

Whatever the case, feeling the child's movement only made Emma more resolved to live. To kill every walker that tried to end her's and it's life.

She peeked around the tree and counted four walkers heading past her – but her vision was still so limited. There could be fifty out there; lurking outside her sight. For a moment, she pondered waiting it out. Maybe she could slip back to the Inn. Back to Bae. It seemed the safest course of action for the child – at the very least.

Just when Emma had become resolved to move off without a fight, an axe swung to take off her head at the neck; her quick reflexes sent her squatting as the metal went into the tree above her. She jumped away from the tree; turning to face her foes with her drawn sword ready to hack them to pieces. The four stepped out of the tree line first; quickly followed by another three – and then two more coming from around her. She was encircled by walkers. Two gliding at her left and right. Six walking towards her from the front.

She felt like a feral wolf in battle – and realized she wasn't fighting for the Throne, her parents, the North, or her own life. She was fighting for her pup.

"Sorry, pup," she mumbled to her stomach; concealed by layers of fur for warmth. Fur and her sword; the armor she would supply for the pup clever enough to warn mommy of the threats.

She attacked to the right first, swinging her sword through the air to strike the heart she knew wasn't there; a clean swipe across – and the walkers head followed his body to the ground. One of the upper six came at her; barring his teeth like he was a great threat. Emma slashed him across the throat – unsurprised by now when no blood poured from the wound.

The next bold one shot forward. Must have been a tall man; some giant's blood in his veins. But he fell quickly enough; Emma ducking low to gain power and momentum in her blows at his chest.

She began to question if all the rest would be so easy; thoughts clouded by her rising vanity when (only four left) one's arm pushed her backwards with unnatural strength. Emma landed on the forest floor, winded. Unable to catch her breath. The walker pulled her head upward by her hair, sword swinging forward for the final blow -

"Hey!"

Bae came rushing into the clearing; daggers out and ready. And raced towards her, dagger wedged straight into the walker's chest; Emma released from the hold and jumping to her feet.

Together, they finished off what remained of the hunting party. As Emma victoriously stood over the no longer reanimated corpses smirking, she turned to Bae to share a moment of joy – and found him seething at her.

"Why would you do that, Emma?" He stood across from her; the nine bodies between them. Panting; looking almost close to tears. "Why would you just –"

"I was hunting –"

"No," he shook his head, walking towards her slowly. "You do not just decide to – we're in this together! We take care of each other! I can't keep going if you were to – it was selfish Emma! Selfish and childish to just leave when –"

She stepped forward to finish the gap of space between them; hand rising to trace the stubble of his chin. Eyes looking at him as if it was for the first time.

"I'm sorry Bae – I promise: this won't happen again."

"It better not!"

Bae drew her into a passionate kiss; holding her to him with desperation. Needing to make sure she was still there and still in one piece.

The baby wedged between them; kicking gentler now. Just to let her know her pup was still there. Safe and well.

After all, papa had come to save them.


	5. Bae

When he was a child, Bae supposed he’d never felt unloved. His papa had been attentive; doting even! Stern in his commands and training; but he would smile – his papa used to smile – whenever Bae entered the room. 

His papa had been a good man; a just lord who managed their small expansion of lands immaculately. Had listened to their smallfolks’ woes with honest concern. 

Bae remembered exploring the rocky bogs of the Fingers; having his face smeared with huckleberries he’d gathered with a maidservant and his papa laughing when he noticed; wiping the mess away. 

Their ‘castle’ was what other nobility would call a small manor house – a stone strong-hold that was only impressive to the smallfolk and the very young. 

For Bae’s forebearers, it had been a singular, stone watchtower. A place to watch out for their family’s sheep. 

The structure showcased the climb in his family’s circumstances. Jagged rocks stacked at the bottom; rising to just above a tall man’s height – which his ancestors had stacked by themselves. The first thing Bae’s papa did with his wealth was add rocks; making it look like a long standing torrent for a castle. But the rocks were smooth and supple; a lighter gray. His papa had commissioned for only the finest of quarried stone – creating a noticeable stripe in the tower. And papa’s stubbornness refused to bend; denied this had been an error or lack of foresight. The stripe remained – and Bae had been quite fond of it as a boy! 

With titles and more land, papa had commissioned a hall built, a study, a library, bedrooms; all that higher Lords could boast! All added on to the stone tower with fine wood and plaster sidings; the plaster gleaming white against the almost constant fog of the moor. 

This would have been what his mother was brought home to, as a young, foreign bride. 

A gleaming, freshly-built place. 

Having little to no memory of his mother, Bae had listened intently each time she’d been mentioned; filing bits and pieces away as he attempted to construct the entire tale. The majority from elder servants – his papa never spoke of her when he was young. 

His papa had been in Braavos, running some errand for the King; trying to cement his loyalty as a young, lowly lord – already scheming for more! For power greater than his father’s father could have dreamed! - And returned, to his smallfolks’ surprise, with an ‘exquisite’ Braavosi wife. Bae had always taken pride in that. Never was she described as ‘pretty’ nor ‘comely’ – but ‘exquisite’, ‘radiant’ even! 

She’d had long, black hair; which she’d worn tumbling freely down her back. Some claimed she’d had curls; wild, thick curls that the Finger’s winds always made a mess of! Others’ noted the shine. Bae’d heard both sides on her eyes. Some citing dark, almond-shaped orbs. Some light and as blue as the sea. In truth, Bae would never know for certain – having his papa’s eyes himself. But his hair was darker than papa’s fading brown. His skin darker as well – all proof that a dark, ‘radiant’, ‘exquisite’, braavosi had been there; responsible for much of his features. 

When he was five or so, Bae had been gushing to a maidservant what he’d imagined up about his mother; saying he imagined her smiling as she played in the bog. Making papa laugh in his study – because, even at a young age, Bae wanted his papa to laugh more! Thinking that would ease his furrowed brow! 

The servant, inadvertently, gave Bae his biggest hold on his mother’s character. 

“She did not laugh,” the servant claimed. “The lady wasn’t a happy creature that I recalled. Never smiled neither – and I was carted in to be her chambermaid special and all by your Lord-father! Was with her day and night – rarely a kind word; not even a smile for her husband! And she hated the bog! I was with the servants, waiting as the Lord rode up for the first time with her – a slip of a girl. She took one look and seemed to want to jump back on the first ship home! If you weren’t already in her belly –“ 

The maid had caught herself here. They’d always talked too freely around him as a boy; his constant presences and quiet, gentleness made the tongues wag. They’d often overlook that he was the heir and their future lord. He was just their little Bae-Underfoot; playing around in the kitchens – looking for stories and attention. 

It was hard, being a naïve, little boy – head full of songs about knights and their lady loves – to realize his mother hadn’t been happy. 

Some had claimed she was Braavosi nobility – some an orphan papa had found on the side of a canal. 

And, in the end, Bae would never know the truth! 

If she was noble, had come from a long line and had a house, Bae never saw proof of it! No Braavosi house had ever extended a hand for him; claimed him as their daughter’s son. Papa had never used to his advantage having a connection to a foreign, noble house. 

So, Bae had rationalized, if papa did not use this marriage in some scheme; had nothing apparently come from the union except Bae himself – had papa been in love? Did he love this woman? Could his papa have loved a woman at all? 

Had papa been a joyful, young man – a fool in love! -excited to present his young bride the fine house he’d constructed to build a legacy within? Had his heart broken when she showed contempt for the place – the house, the Fingers? 

Or could everything have been remedied if she’d survived? Bae wondered if she had loved him – if a child could have softened her heart. In happy, foolish dreams, he would imagine still a laughing beauty; chasing him around the bogs. Bae imagined his existence softening her; being her joy. And her joy making papa the man Bae’d imagined he was; kept the just, honest, good man alive – not the monster Bae knew him to be. 

As he lay upstairs in the Inn; in the bedchamber he and Emma claimed as theirs, Bae found himself wondering about his papa – and his mother still. Sleep evaded him; Emma curled into his side, using his shoulder as a pillow. Fast asleep and looking far too peaceful for the hell they were living in. She was slightly snoring but Bae knew she’d deny it in the morning – if he was silly enough to joke about it; she might even box his ears.

His hand caressed her expanding stomach, sweeping across the skin that shielded their growing child. 

She allowed him to touch where the babe was now. Bae was unable to resist trailing his hand across her abdomen when he walked up behind her; delaying whatever task they should be doing as he felt for movement. When he helped her into a chair by the fire after a long day, his fingers would always find a way to skim across her belly. Even when they made love, her nude form; her obvious maternal state, was far too enticing for Bae! 

Now, Emma ate the extra food he’d put on her plate gladly; uttering a ‘thank you’ that Bae tried to explain wasn’t necessary. She still seemed ashamed; like she was wasting resources – but of course she and the child would get more! Oh course Bae would make sure they were taken care of! 

They were his family! Finally, he had a family! Flesh and blood; not a child’s dreams and delusions! 

Bae was enjoying the freedom of bonding with Emma and the child – what had been denied of him for months. 

But reframed from pushing her too far, of discussing names just yet. It was inch by inch with Emma – he’d known that for years! 

When papa got his seat on the King’s council – what he must have been working for since his trip to Braavosi – Bae was carted off to be fostered. King’s Landing, his papa had told him, was a dangerous place. Too much for such a young boy. 

“I’ll stay at home,” he’d argued as a child. “I’ll keep the lands for you while you’re away!” 

With, what Bae had imagined to be, tears in his eyes, papa had told him that could not be. 

“You need to learn to be a lord someday, son – to be a fine man. There are things even I can’t teach you… the Lord of the North has done us a great honor in offering to host you! You’ll learn to swordfight with a master – you always loved stories about the Lord of the North’s battles and victories: you’ll learn from that man, Baelfire! You’ll be a knight – and have a great education; the finest septons –“

“But… I’ll miss you, papa. And I’ll be homesick –“ 

His papa had knelt in front of him; placing his hand around Bae’s neck as he took a moment to regard his son. 

“ – I’ll miss you too, son. But this will be the making of you, my boy! Of our family! You’ll be learning to fight – and you best be paying equal attention to your books, as well. – I will be vexed, Baelfire, if you neglect your mind in all this! You have an aptitude for learning, and I want to hear you’ve applied yourself –“ 

“…I promise, papa..” 

“Now, now! Don’t cry! You’re much too big for that, son! – while you’re learning to be a proper lording, I’ll be setting things in motion in King’s Landing. We’ll both be very busy – but we’ll write often! And, when you’re old enough, I’ll send for you! By the time you’ve come of age, I’ll have the world ready to bow at our feet – I promise you that!” 

“Papa,” Bae stammered, confused as his papa rambled off plans and schemes he still did not fully understand. 

“Have faith, my boy! Have faith!” 

And he had! He was obedient! Studied hard in all the subjects the septons urged him in. Bae had written to his papa almost every third day – chronicling his days and education; the current goals his septons’ mapped out for him. 

Winterfell had been the grandest sight – it still was, Bae hoped. Massive and intimidating as he approached; but warm and safe inside. The Lord was jolly; a true hero in Bae’s eyes. And adored his wife and daughter – and Bae too in turn. The Lord David had a booming laugh the echoed down the stone hallways. Bae remembered hearing it often as he turned a corner, walking into the Great Hall to find him chasing little Emma about; catching her and twirling her as all laughed. His Lady. Himself. Lady Emma. – and Bae from the doorway, delighting in seeing a happy family. And they would smile at him; gesturing for him to join their merriment! The Lady was everything he’d dreamed up about his mother; with a regal walk and stature Bae was in awe over. 

Little Lady Emma had been weary of him at first; timid. 

Her aloofness left Bae ashamed; of his worn clothing (still nicer than most, but nothing towards her finery), of his simple manners. The first few moon turns, he’d taken special care in bathing and dressing each morning – so as to not offend the little lady’s sensibilities. 

It took him awhile to learn this was her way; shy and observant around newcomers to the castle. 

When he realized this was the case, he’d tempted her with silly stories to get through her defenses – from there, shocking gore of the winters of old! Embellishing here and there. She loved his stories. Soon following him around the castle and yards; loudly proclaiming to the other children that he was her champion! 

The good Lord and Lady seemed unworried about their only child’s favoritism of Bae; even laughed about how silly a child’s notions were. 

Emma was always the castle’s delight and joy; her parents, the servants, the smallfolk, the knights, and Bae’s. The lady was a clever little-thing! Once she started talking to anyone, they were beyond shutting her up! 

Once she decided Bae was her’s, it was so! No refusal! No complaint! And he was gladly! From the very start!

When Lord David taught him weaponry and sword fighting, Emma was always there; hanging on the gate of the enclosure and listening intently. If Lord David asked a question Bae did not know, Emma would chirp an answer at both of them; grinning when her father declared her correct. Always correct – and it really wasn’t fair that she was! Giving her such a sense of self-assuredness at such a young age – to the dangers of the rest of the world! 

Papa seemed to think Bae should be running fighting drills from sunrise to sunset. And, when the sunset, Bae should be inside doing hours of studying and readings proscribed by the septons. Burning a candle into the wee hours of the morning. Sun rising only to start his betterment regime again! 

Luckily, Lord David did not proscribe to this sort of an educational program – and Bae never mentioned otherwise to his papa! 

Of horseback riding through the surrounding forests. Lord David taking him to local fairs. The Lady measuring him for new clothes for festivals. Emma claiming him for all sorts of games and schemes – he’d studied, he’d learned, and he’d played under Lord David’s protection. Laughed and joked; treated like family. He thought himself quite beloved by them all! 

For all his begging when his papa shipped him off to be fostered, Bae was heartsick when his papa wrote Lord David; requesting ‘Baelfire’ be traveling to King’s Landing before the King’s next nameday. 

He’d been sent for. Nineteen, he’d already overstayed his expected welcome by years – most leaving their fosterings before they turned eighteen! But Lord David seemed in no rush to part with him. Bae, already being quite in love with Emma by this point, was certainly not prepared to take his leave. 

He was happy in Winterfell. He was in love in Winterfell! He and Lord David kept finding excuses for him to stay on. Lord David claimed a stiff knee and Bae was much needed to assist with the harvests, the household accounts, training new recruits – even Lord David’s lady insisted Bae indispensible at the time. Papa’s letters kept coming: everyone already preparing a new excuse. 

It wasn’t until Lord David noticed Bae staring too intently at Lady Emma in the Great Hall one evening that things changed. No more excuses. Just a raven to his papa to expect Bae promptly in King’s Landing by the next moon turn. The Lady mended and packed his things; remaining a true mother even while she bypassed any attempts Bae or Emma made to be alone. Emma’s septa was always by her side now, indignantly watching as the two walked the yards together; trying to talk. Hand firmly at their sides – they didn’t want the setpa reporting anything amiss! 

Bae still wasn’t sure Emma understood what had happened – not at the time, at least. How could she? A sweet, blushing maid – unaware her childhood friend had crossed a dangerous line. That her virtue was now going to be heavily guarded because he’d alerted her noble parents of the truth: she wasn’t a child anymore. And neither was he. 

The final blow had been swift! A week before he started for King’s Landing, Lord David and his Lady invited a score of young, high-titled bachelors to Winterfell. For the Harvest Festival, the letters’ claimed. 

Alas! – the real reason was to put Emma up on the meat-mart! 

For days, Bae’d paced back and forth of Lord David’s study door; composing speeches he’d never make. He thought of his time at Winterfell. His treatment before this – he knew Lord David had thought of him as his own son! And he was a lord. Had lands he would inherit. A house – not to the scale of Winterfell but it could be fixed up! Good enough for Emma if he started soon! 

He knew he wasn’t the greatest match to be had but still: he composed several drafts of proposals that he’d never speak or read to the Lord of Winterfell. 

After Lady Emma had snuck after him his finally night; allowed and encouraged his kisses against the Godswood – and then fled in fear of his sexual hunger; so shamed by the feel of his cock against her belly she couldn’t look at him come morning, Bae was even more resolved to wed. To right any shame or wrongness in Lady Emma’s eyes – to prove his intentions more honorable than they’d appeared!

In King’s Landing, he tried to strengthen his argument for a suit; researching his family’s lands and standing more closely – hinting to his papa about marriage prospects. 

“You’re still quite young, Baelfire,” his papa argued. 

Many men married by twenty, Bae replied. And it would be awhile for Emma to be ready to wed, he thought inwardly. 

But a betrothal could be made. Bae could pledge himself – Emma as well… but word soon reached King’s Landing that the Lord of the North promised his only child elsewhere. The match already sealed and Emma agreed. The wedding would wait; probably five years down the line. But Emma was lost to him. 

Almost two years later, when Bae’s path crossed the Lord of Winterfell again, he remembered the still stinging anger. Of resisting all urges to inquire after his daughter. Was she happy, Bae needed to know. But he dreaded that answer as well. When his foster father brought him into a hug, lamenting their parting and chiding both Bae and himself for not writing more, Bae returned the attentions half-hearted. 

He asked about Lord David’s Lady – did she have a good enough wool supply for the winter? Did the harvest pan -out as expected? Was August training the recruits to his satisfaction? Improvement plans for the winter – Lord David seemed to pick up the indifference in the younger man; the bored façade he’d witnessed in the older Mockingbird often enough. And it was not something he was pleased to find creeping into the younger! 

“Emma sends her regards.”

The words that have haunted Bae since they were spoken; a cool breeze sweeping across the King’s Landing garden as the men walked. 

Not her love. Nor her friendship. Just regards. He wanted to sneer at that. What did regards from such a high lady even mean? But he kept walking; hands fisted behind his back as he answered stiffly, 

“And how fares Lady Emma?” 

“She is much altered.” 

“Excitement for her impending nuptials, I guess,” Bae answered with a bland laugh. 

“…Perhaps.” 

Bae had quickly changed the subject; explaining his future adventures and assignments from the King himself. Bae would be commanding troops in the south – leagues away from King’s Landing and almost a lifetime from the pain of Winterfell. 

That, at least, could muster some enthusiasm from him! 

“It’s sounds like an important commission, Bae.” 

He’d always been ‘Bae’ to Lord David. 

“It’s a way for a young man to distinguish himself –“ 

“-As long as it makes you happy. Remember this: you are loved. And, for those who love you, that is the principle concern: you being happy.” 

He remembered Lord David’s weak smile as he clasped him on the shoulder one final time; holding him a fraction longer than needed before walking away. 

Happy? Happy! What hypocrisy was this? The man must have known what would have made him happy – was he taunting him? Mocking as he dangled Emma just out of reach -

He was angry at Lord David for a long time; their final meeting festering with his pain; his heartbreak. 

Bae left King’s Landing the next day; paying neither his papa or Lord David his final respects. Asking neither for their support. He rushed out of the gates at first light with his troops, not realizing the madness gathering inside the capital. 

Those were the final words Lord David spoke to him; before he was arrested – branded a traitor to the crown. 

Emma sent her regards. 

He wanted Bae to be ‘happy’. 

When word traveled to the south of Lord David’s death – of his papa’s hand in the man’s downfall – Bae was in denial; certain it heresy! His papa respected the Lord of Winterfell – why would he turn on a powerful ally? The man who’d raised his son? 

His papa was named Hand of the King in the next raven. With news of Lord David’s Lady gathering forces in the North; raising an army to avenge this miscarriage of justice!

The Lady fell just as fast as her husband. She trusted the wrong men; thought lineage and honor would withstand the pieces of gold Bae’s papa slipped into her murderers’ hands. 

It was too late to do anything when August had ridden up to Bae’s camp; thrusting a letter from the late Lady of Winterfell into his hands. 

She urged him to unite his armies with the Northern forces; to fight for her cause!

And he would have, Bae was certain. Had the message come days before reports of her death, he knew he’d have rushed to the wolves’ side. 

Abandoning his troops in the south, Bae had traveled back to King’s Landing; to confront his papa; to be told it wasn’t true. It had to be a misunderstanding! Gossip! His papa couldn’t have turned on the Lord and Lady of the North! 

But the old Mockingbird tweeted the entire truth; priding himself on outsmarting them all – regretting only that such an old house had no intelligence to play the game first; to give the Mockingbird some sport! 

Just when Bae felt himself working towards cursing his papa – and himself for caring where that detestable man was; wondering if he was alive – the baby began to kick against his hand. Emma still snoring against his ear. 

Now, he’d pieced together just what Emma’s regards meant. She loved him –even then, she claimed. But he’d left! He hadn’t written! He hadn’t proposed a suit – and she’d agreed to another just to spite him! 

It was so very ‘Emma-like’, Bae was amazed he hadn’t thought of it before! 

Was he happy? 

He hadn’t been. For the longest time, happiness seemed a childhood illusion. Something he’d dreamt to make the world seem bearable. 

But now –as the babe kicked steadily against Bae’s hand, he knew he was. Even in winter, in a run-down Inn with his nightmares waiting to strike at every turn, Emma was curled up in his arms: safe. He was someone’s father –papa. And he’d be keeping them both safe. His family. 

“David,” Bae muttered down to Emma’s stomach. “Davie, stop kicking your mother – she needs to sleep.” 

He was happy.


	6. The Unblemished Rose of Highgarden

Perched on his wooden throne, the newest Lord of Harrenhal looked the very sight of doom. 

He commanded the room be kept dark; a fire only to keep the occupants from freezing to death – most still shook from the cold; wrapping arms and cloaks tightly around themselves. The cold did not seem to bother their Lord in the slightest. He had ice in his veins, they’d whisper. 

Whispering didn’t matter. 

He would hear, nevertheless. He’d heard their foolishness before – he’d hear it again. 

There were worst things than ice in the veins, the Lord knew. 

In another life, he’d known a Northern warrior with ice in his veins – a hero of legend that he, still a boy in so many ways, thought would live forever. 

For a summer, he’d followed the hero around; witnessing adventures and campaigns of the Northern hero. 

His friend. 

In another time: the gangly lordling from the Fingers could proudly boast the future Lord of Winterfell as his friend. 

A true friend.

The Lord’s eyes lowered to the table; the dim candlelight flickering as it cast his features deeper in shadows. 

The Northern hero died.

No supernatural forces. 

No wraith from the gods – old or new. 

Just an army. 

Blood. Steel. 

False promises from a false friend.

An unprecedented moment of passion had the Lord of Harrenhal pounding a fist against the table; finding some delight in the pain throbbing up his arm. The inner sadist smelling trickles of blood dripping down from his knuckles; feeling alive.

Still alive.

Servants and soldiers alike scurried under his gaze – quick to conduct any tasks he ask of them; anything to escape his presence for a little longer. 

The Lord of Harrenhal took a long draft of his wine. Smooth and rich – easily the only wine of quality left in the realm. 

Crates had arrived; pilled high on dozens of carts. All from the Arbor. The wine carrying the sunshine of the south. 

Gifts befitting the marriage the would never be…

Not without his Baelfire -

On many accounts: the Lord had reached his life’s pursuit.

A stronghold of much renown. A treasury packed with gold and treasures – all of which useless in winter! But he was more than willing to stockpile and wait. His name would transcend past his death; making maid’s skin crawl at the thought of such a monster. The brave at heart, if any remained, rallying to eradicate such wickedness from the world!

But there would always be the gangly youth: the one with a keen mind but no brut strength. The one who knew nothing would come of nothing. Perhaps it was here his reputation would find sympathy. Amongst the others who had only themselves to rise for.

Now - Rumpelstiltskin had immortality. 

His eyes almost drifted to the fine chair to his right – but he corrected himself quickly; signaling for the serving boy to fill his empty mug with wine once more. 

The fine wine did nothing but supply another barrier between himself and his surroundings. Another cup: less of himself. He felt like he was floating away; into a peaceful darkness where everything would finally stop – but no! No such comfort for such a monster!

Somewhere, in a dark cavern of morality left in him, he knew the Northern hero and his lady had such a peace.

There had been a daughter as well.

Perhaps more the Northern hero in her than her docile mother. 

Rumpelstiltskin only had one memory of such a child. Racing out to greet the visitors from the Fingers. Golden curls bouncing as her father swung her through the air; the high laugh of childhood ringing in the air when she’s set back on the ground.

In quick succession, three vision flashed in Rumpelstiltskin’s mind. 

The Northern hero was led to the high sept. Like in Rumpelstiltskin’s dreams, he walked back down on his own accord; his head stationed under arm now. His voice ringing, ‘You will answer for this treachery, my friend! The North will remember –“ 

Then his lady, the lovely Lady of the North. Her skin, always pale, now lacked the warmth beneath the cheeks. What had been red lips now purple as she lay in the riverbank. Soaked in water and blood. The scarlet gash on her neck telling of the brutality the first Queen of the North faced. There was no pity for her; no shame. Just a corpse thrown into the river to be forgotten. 

The last vision was the young, golden-haired child riding south with her solders. He supposed she must have been a woman-grown by this point in the cruel history, but a child he always saw. 

Geared in her father’s armor; his sword large in her hands. She looked a girl barely ten; a child at play. But the eyes told it all. The ferocity of a wildling. The look he’d witnessed on the Northern hero before he dispatched foes straight to the Seven. 

‘I remember,’ the miniature Queen wailed. ‘The North remembers!’ 

It did not matter if the child did or not.

His dreams always ended now with the young Queen, dressed in her father’s armor and cloak, perishing in the snows. Forgotten. 

Though communications and his spies had dwindled when the winter settled through the lands, let alone when the wights and others arose from everyone’s childhood nightmares; Rumpelstiltskin knew for certain the Northern Queen unheard of. The remains of those loyal to her had all but given up locating her or even a corpse. 

Rumpelstiltskin wondered at times who delivered the final blow to the Northern line – a creature of legend or a man of flesh and blood.. it was better not knowing. Easier.

It was the opposite with his Baelfire. His son. His legacy. Lost in the winter – but he would find out why. He would find his son – or find the one who ended him. 

The low conversation over the meal had become too much merriment for the Lord of Harrenhal and the Fingers to endure! 

“Go,” his voice cracked. Throwing his wine against the far wall, Rumpelstiltskin found false-strength. “I said go! Leave me be! All of you!” 

The scraping of the wooden benches and boom of the massive door told him he’d gotten his way again. Quiet. A faint fluttering of the fire. 

Rumpelstiltskin flinched when the seat to his right, what should have been his Baelfire’s seat of honor, was pulled back; a slim form in blue silk and brown furs depositing herself in the chair without batting an eye. 

“Another spectacle, my Lord?”

The Highgarden-bitch was mocking him again!

Slyly, she poured a glass of wine. Rumpelstiltskin moved to take it as his own’s replacement – only to have her pull back; sipping the glass herself as she adjusted in the chair for more comfort. 

“Why would I waste another glass on you? Not when you have been so neglectful with the last,” she nods to the mess against the wall. “At this rate: my wedding will be completely without the vintage my father had - so lovingly - saved since my first name day –“ 

“I see you’re more worried about the absence of some piss-wine than your betrothed,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped; getting his own fucking wine – only to have the girl slap his hand away; directing him to a pitcher of watered ale instead. 

“I understand this may be something completely inaccessible to such a stunted plate: but this is the greatest wine the Arbor has to offer. Truly civilized men would kill for just a taste of this –“

“Truly civilized men have nothing better to do than kill for drink, I suppose!”

“Better than stomping your foot around as a child on a daily basis, my Lord. But – I suppose you have more experience in having nothing better to do than I.”

“Listen to me, girl –“ 

“Oh! My dear, would-be, goodfather! Please do not think I meant any slight on your excellent hospitality! I’m mortified you thought me being insolent! After all: had your son been here, as promised when I set out from my homeland – bringing such fortifying food provisions and wine to sweeten the alliance between our houses – well! Had Baelfire been here, waiting as you so promised my father, than you’d truly be my goodfather! Why – I might even be able to vouch a warmed bed and child at my breasts by now!”

“Girl – it is late. I have not consumed the necessary amounts of wine to deal with your family’s ‘tact’ this evening. Say what you wish and leave me be! And leave the wine in your wake! The ale does nothing for me –“

“I had not realized I was speaking in riddles for you! I only meant to address your house’s current breach of agreement with my own! You received our support. Our men. Our food. Wine – as you’ve clearly been indulging since my arrival! Yet, here I remain. Unwedded. Unbedded. And living like a captive in a household I was meant to be a ruling power in!”

“If unsatisfied: you are well within your right to leave, girl. Do your flower knights have much experience killing white walkers? Marching through snow banks taller than yourself?”

“Do your men have such experience? From what I’ve witnessed, you and your men are hauled up in this ruined castle; waiting away the winter –“ 

“I’ve survived a winter before!”

“Aye – you’ve dealt with the snow and freeze. But I don’t recall hearing the dead rise in the winter our lands last saw. Nor did others raid villages and kill smallfolk; their numbers climbing day after day – “ 

“Just say it!”

“If I am to remain here – a maiden-wife lost to winter: I want to be involved with the most important task left.” 

“Which is?”

The Highgarden lady seemed shocked by the question, “Saving humanity, of course! Part of your army is mine: and I will use it to fight this threat. The majority of your food stock is mine: and I will use it to feed the smallfolk. At the very least, my goodfather, you must see the import of that. After all: who will be left for you to rule come spring at this rate?” 

He hated the pleased smile that graced her face as she leaned closer; a gleam of triumph in her eyes. 

“So? Speechless? I’ll take that as an agreement and send ravens out. To the Citadel – I have an uncle there who could shred some light on destroying these creatures! I think research is essential to start matters – though I’ll send my most trusted out to bring the surrounding smallfolk into the castle. The villages and smallholdings cannot be fortified at this point – so would be best to shelter them here!”

Her face as so close now, Rumpelstiltskin could make out a dusting of freckles along her nose; a small token of a childhood spent in the warmth of Highgarden. 

When her lips came closer, he expected a chaste kiss on the check and a mocking ‘goodfather’ to follow. He nearly jumped from his skin when soft, pink lips forced themselves against his own. There was a hunger he’d no expected; a power and will behind such fair beauty – he felt his cock already rising with need.

When the lady, commonly called the ‘Unblemished Rose of Highgarden’, deposited herself on his lap; hips grinding wantonly against his own, Rumpelstiltskin knows he should push the girl off – berate her shamelessness and send her away.

But his fingers find the front laces of her dress instead; freeing full teats to the chilled air of the hall. Like a bashful youth he fumbles for a moment; pulling and prodding to get beneath her heavy skirts. His mouth greedily sucking on pert teats as his long fingers locate her dripping cunt.

“Belle –“ 

He was embarrassed at the gasp he released; clearing his throat in desperate need to find control again. But her lips attacked; willful as ever. The lady’s fingers making quick work of his laces as gentle hands started caressing his cock.

There is an awareness that he’s being played; that the maid – so young and fair – could not harbor anything of desire for the old fool withering beneath her. She would not be the first woman to seduce him for their own ends. Nor the first with curly, dark hair.

But the eyes – there was the difference!

In sky blue eyes that never seemed to miss a trick. In the grunts such a delicate woman released when he finally bucked forward to take her – stilled with her hands pressing down on his shoulders; her body lifting to avoid the intrusion. 

The beauty clucked her tongue; grinning as she chastised the older man like a overindulged child. Her hands slide to her own laces; straightening and tightening till she appeared the perfect maiden once again – but Rumpelstiltskin noted the smooth, pale thighs still visible; seated on his lap. The view of her cunt as she rose slowly from his lap – deliberate in every movement, he was certain! A promise and a threat as she planted her feet back on the wooden floor, arranging her silks to hide her dripping cunt and trembling thighs from the Lord of Harrenhal’s enamored gaze. She glided for the door, pausing only to call back, 

“I would not want to be in breach of contract between our great houses, my Lord – and your terms were quite exact: a maiden-daughter of Highgarden to be wedded and bedded by the heir of your own. I believe you even included several stipulations for my father… some penalties should I be found wanting. I do recall a line, which my handmaidens and I laughed over for days mind you, about if your son was not able to locate my maidenhead on our wedding night –“

The Highgarden-bitch started snorting; perils of laughter echoing across the great hall Rumpelstiltskin so much preferred silent. The Lord’s scowl returned as Belle gripped the handle of the door for balance; almost sobbing in her laughter –

“You must forgive me – but Lord! Such wording! Is Ser Baelfire such a simpleton that you worried he’d be unable to find my cunt? Would you have joined us on our wedding night to assist -”

He did not care for the suggestion – or the erotic leer in the girl’s eyes. 

“I was merely ensuring my son had a virgin and not some common whore! I’m well aware how lax you southern ladies are in – such matters!” 

“Aye, my Lord. Such matters! Alas – since I’ll not have my father forced to pay forfeit in your penalty: I’m afraid you’ll have to find alternate release for your desire this night,” Belle nodded downward to the engorged cock still freed of the Lord’s breeches. 

“Shall I have a kitchen slut sent for,” she questioned as she opened the door. “Or is my goodfather much more fond of his own hands for ‘such matters’! For my part: I’ve always had long fingers that make swift work beneath my skirts!”

With a smirk, dangling the fingers of her hand outward; the Lady curtsied lowly - taking her leave with everything of victory.


End file.
